


The Bond of the Warrior

by sinestrated



Series: Ballads [5]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Battle Wedding, M/M, No one is stupid!, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: In accordance with Mandalorian tradition, Din and Paz earn the right to marry.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Paz Vizla
Series: Ballads [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628653
Comments: 37
Kudos: 313





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for _Ballads_ , folks. Thanks for taking this ride with me, and leaving such encouraging, kind words along the way. I appreciate each and every one of you.
> 
> Also, psst. I've spent the past week writing Din/Paz porn. So maybe I'll see some of you back later <3

Avi dropped his hands in frustration. “It doesn’t fit!”

Din turned to look down at his left shoulder, where an intricate golden clasp hung half-open within the folds of the ceremonial cape. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like... “Try it again, upside down this time.”

But the dark-haired twelve-year-old just let out a long, dramatic sigh that would’ve made you think the entire world was ending. “I said it doesn’t fit! Gods,  _ Din, _ you’re so—argh!”

Din just cocked an eyebrow at him, glad for the helm concealing his smirk. “You okay there, kid?”

“Don’t  _ call _ me that!” But Avi couldn’t seem to maintain his glare, something in his eyes shining just a bit as he mumbled, “I just...it’s your day. It’s supposed to be perfect.”

“It is perfect.” Din reached out to take his elbow, giving a tug that was both comfort and command. “I am getting married, after all.”

“ _ Probably, _ ” Avi grumbled, but obediently approached him again.

As slim, boyish fingers fumbled once more with the clasp, Din let out a soft breath, trying to calm the sudden flutter of nerves. Technically Avi was right: by Mandalorian law, he didn’t get to marry Paz today, not unless he earned the right. It was the Way, and he’d been training every day for it for the past month, ever since they returned from Tal-Agu with a fresh new lease on Paz’s life and a promise sealed between them. But what if something went wrong? What if he wasn’t as strong as Paz needed him to be? What if...

_ Click-snap.  _ “A-ha!” Avi stepped back, triumphant. “Told you I’d get it!”

Magnanimous, Din just nodded and straightened the cape. “So how do I look?”

The almost-teenager eyed him up and down, then wrinkled his nose. “Kinda weird, honestly. Without the armor, I mean.”

Din tended to agree. Without the comforting weight of the beskar, the simple cloth tunic, though brand-new and sewn from some flowing, breathable material he couldn’t identify, nevertheless made him feel vaguely naked and vulnerable. He only ever removed his armor in order to sleep or to wash, neither of which was required of him at the moment, so he took a deep breath and tried to focus on the soothing, familiar feel of his helm and his  _ aliik’gam _ , gleaming freshly-polished on his shoulder. He was dressed for the occasion; this was the Way, and at least Paz was undergoing the same discomfort.

Probably. Because this was the older Mandalorian’s second marriage, so who knew? He could be entirely relaxed, laughing and trading jokes with Jied as she helped dress him for the ceremony. He certainly wouldn’t be feeling anxious and worried like Din. After all, he’d already proven himself worthy of a life partner all those years ago.

“Din’ _ baa? _ ” Avi cocked his head. “Are you okay?”

“Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I...yeah. This is just new for me, you know? I don’t have your father’s, uh, experience.”

Avi nodded. “Well, he chose you,” he said, voice surprisingly firm. “We all did. So that means something, right? It means you’re meant to be with us no matter what.”

The conviction behind his words was enough to make Din’s throat tighten. No matter what happened today, whether or not the old gods of Mandalore granted him and Paz permission to bond, he would always be grateful for this: these bright, strong souls Paz had raised, who no matter how dark the world around them got would always act with kindness and care. Avi, Lyrr, and Jied were Paz’s legacy, just as Din’s own child was his and, Issik willing, today they would all finally come together as they always should have been, as clan. As family. 

But of course he wasn’t about to tell Avi any of that, so he just reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair, smiling at the indignant squawk. “Thanks,” he said, before indicating the door. “Shall we?”

#

A low, excited buzz had already started when they strode in a few minutes later. The entire Covert had turned out for the occasion, crowded together in the empty hangar, and heads both helmeted and not inclined respectfully as Din walked past with Avi at his shoulder. In the center of the vast space the Armorer awaited them, standing regal and commanding as usual within a large white ring painted on the floor. 

She nodded at his approach. “Djarin.”

“ _ Ijaa’lor. _ ” He dropped to one knee as Avi quietly slipped away to join Lyrr, who had his child in her arms. The little creature looked equal parts bewildered and delighted with current events, blinking around at all the people with their big eyes. Din suddenly ached to hurry over and take them in his arms, but clamped down on the desire with effort. They weren’t part of the ceremony today—although, given their abilities, maybe he should have named them his second after all.

If the Armorer was privy to the grin under his helm, she chose not to show it, instead nodding somewhere past his shoulder. “Vizsla.”

“ _ Ijaa’lor, _ ” answered a familiar voice, and Din couldn’t help it, turning to gaze over his shoulder and—wow.

Given their close living quarters and the harrowed nature of their work, Din had over the last two years seen Paz in all sorts of states when it came to dress, from fully armored in gleaming beskar to just his tunic and his helm. Yet never before had he seen Paz like this: outfitted beautifully in Vizsla colors, the deep blue of a pristine sea and the flowing white of a mountain summit. His cape billowed out behind him as he walked, clinging to his broad shoulders, and the thin cloth of his tunic clearly showed the outline of his muscles as he moved, no armor present to disguise his strength with flat planes and bulky angles. His helm gleamed in the bright overhead lights, pauldron on his right shoulder proudly displaying the  _ jai’galaar _ signet of his clan, and Din all of a sudden couldn’t seem to get enough air.

This was Paz Vizsla in all his strength and glory. This was what he was fighting for today.

Paz slowed his steps when he noticed Din looking at him. Din could imagine what his partner was seeing: he’d chosen for Clan Djarin’s colors the sandy brown of his child’s robes, coupled with a cape of deep blood-red in honor of his homeworld. But no matter what colors he wore, he didn’t have Clan Vizsla’s prestige, couldn’t offer a rich and sophisticated history with the mudhorn on his shoulder. 

Was Paz truly okay with that?

Jied, wearing the same colors as her father, tipped her helm at Din and went to join her siblings. Paz, for his part, stepped forward into the ring, and as he knelt down Din felt a soft brush down his arm, encouragement and affirmation in one. And the world righted itself once more.

“Vizsla,” the Armorer warned.

“Oops,” Paz answered, entirely unapologetic. Low murmurs of amusement rumbled through the crowd behind them, and Din smiled. 

No, he wasn’t perfect, and his clan was new and he didn’t have a long line of shining, impressive deeds to offer as tribute. But Avi was right: out of all the trillions of people in the galaxy, Paz had chosen him. And that meant everything.

It was only because they were so close that Din heard the exasperated breath through the Armorer’s modulator before their leader straightened up. “Eons ago,” she said, voice echoing across the hangar, “two founders of ancient Mandalore, Issik and Lothir, desired to marry. But the planet thought them unworthy, and sent great catastrophes to destroy them. 

“Rather than surrendering and taking the coward’s way, the two ancient gods instead chose to fight for their love. Issik battled a hurricane, Lothir a great earthquake, and together they tamed the planet, establishing for all of us a home and a Way that has persisted to the present.”

A slight bow of her head, just a hint of sadness. “Today, Mandalore is no more. Today, we have lost our ancient home and much of our culture and our people, all because of evil forces that sowed division and dissent amongst us as a virus sows infection. Yet still we survive. Still we persist. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” they answered, solemn.

“Our gods fought for each other, and in so doing they fought for us all,” their leader continued. “In this tradition, as we look today to bless this bond between two followers of the Creed, so do we expect them to do glorious battle: for our people, for our history, for themselves, but most of all, for each other.”

“Hear,” rumbled the crowd behind them, and Din took a deep breath.  _ Here we go. _

The Armorer nodded. “Rise,” she said, “and prove yourselves worthy to become clan.”

They obeyed. Din glanced over at Paz and, receiving the briefest of nods in response, tailed the Armorer to the edge of the ring. As he stepped over the thick white line, though, something tugged at his cape. He turned and saw his child waving from within the circle of Lyrr’s arms, little teeth set in a wide grin. Another soft tug, disembodied and invisible, and Din smiled. This, what they were doing here today, was right. This was what they all deserved.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the ring where Paz stood alone, arms held loosely behind his back in parade rest. Next to Din, the Armorer raised a gloved palm. “Paz Vizsla. Your opponent today, second of Clan Djarin, the magnificent hurricane: Carasynthia Dune.”

A figure, tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing, stepped into the ring. Warmth blossomed in Din’s chest as Cara cocked her head at Paz, smirking. For this occasion the former Rebel soldier had forsaken her usual dark-colored outfit for his clan colors, though she’d swapped the cape for a dark red sash that looped like a bloody belt around her waist, and her arms were bare, showcasing the cuff tattoo that broadcast her history.

Several of the other Mandalorians present turned to whisper urgently to each other. They all knew who Din had selected, of course, but still it was significant—and rather blatantly off-script—for a non-Mandalorian, an outsider, to duel in the bonding ceremony. Yet Din could think of no one better to fight in his honor. Even if Clan Djarin had been vast and filled with great helmeted warriors, he still would have chosen Cara, whose bravery and fire continued to bewilder him most days, who had opened her heart to him and his child without thought or hesitation, who was his sister in everything but Creed.

When she’d accepted his request with a raised eyebrow and a  _ How easy should I go on him? _ , Din knew he’d made the right choice.

It was the same now as Cara hooked her thumbs over her sash, regarding Paz with a look that could only be described as skeptical. They’d only met a couple times but got along like Wookiees on a fresh carcass, so her voice remained light as she said, “You can still forfeit, big guy. No hard feelings.”

Paz just grunted. “How many bones you want broken today?”

“Vizsla fights for the right to join Djarin,” the Armorer interrupted. “Victory is determined by incapacitation or being forced out of the ring. Fight honorably and fight well, for the futures of two clans rest on your shoulders.”

Slowly, Cara brought up her fists, settling back into an offensive stance. Paz, for his part, simply shifted sideways, planting his boots firmly in the sandy ground of the ring.

“Begin,” the Armorer said.

Cara didn’t wait. She launched across the ring in an eyeblink, slamming into Paz with enough force to make Din wince but Paz took it head-on, grunting as he used her momentum to hurl her sideways. She recovered quickly, boots slamming into the dirt hard enough to kick up a cloud of dust, and they were off.

Mandalorian weddings weren’t well-known in the galaxy, most people recognizing the culture only for its centuries of war, violence, and conquest. Even those few outsiders who were granted the privilege of witnessing a ceremony tended to walk away shaking their heads. Why taint such a pure, sacred event with violence and brute force, they would ask? Why would anyone choose to mark the beginning of a lifelong bond with bloody teeth and broken bones?

But they didn’t understand. For them, love was a feeling, an experience you had when in the presence of your significant other. It was intangible, abstract, something to be written about and philosophized on but never truly identified with shape or substance. And frankly, to Din, that was bullshit.

Love, like the Creed, was a way of life. You didn’t feel love; you  _ lived _ it, through words and actions and things your other could see and feel and touch. Paz fought not for his own glory or because he thought Din some delicate prize to be won. He fought as a demonstration, a promise of the violence and strength but also the determination and loyalty he would bring to their bond. He fought to prove himself a strong partner, someone both willing and able to watch Din’s back and protect him and their clan to the death, and now, watching as his partner tackled Cara to the ground with a solid  _ thump _ loud enough to send sympathetic rumbles through the crowd, Din couldn’t help but swallow against the sudden lump in his throat.

Paz was fighting for him, bleeding and bruising specifically for him. He was putting everything that he was, all his energy and strength into earning a place at Din’s side. Paz  _ loved _ him, and was showing that love to the world at large through hisses and grunts and the solid  _ smack _ of fist meeting flesh. 

It was enough to send chills down Din’s spine as the two fighters separated from their latest bout, sizing each other up at opposite ends of the ring. Cara’s hair was a mess and her split lip bled down her chin, and Paz was favoring his left side, both of them panting for breath as they watched each other. Neither one looked ready to surrender, and nobody had crossed the white boundary of the ring. They were, for all intents and purposes, evenly matched.

Then the former Rebel turned and spit a glob of dark blood into the sand. “Not bad,” she said, “but your cape’s all messed up.”

“Hn.” Paz glanced down at the once-pristine white cloth, now streaked with brown from rolling around in the sand, and Din heard the grin in his voice. “That’s the goddamned point!” And then he was running at Cara, barreling toward her like a stampeding bantha and—

She caught him. It was like a speeder crashing into a duracrete wall and probably cracked a rib or two but she took him straight on, grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed her knee up into his stomach, and as Paz staggered back with a pained grunt she leapt forward and smashed her fist right down onto his helm.

Din’s heart leaped into his throat. He knew exactly what would happen next: Paz would hit the ground, stunned, and that would be it. Defeat was disgrace. They’d either have to try again, dishonored and embarrassed, or leave the Way in order to bond as outsiders, and he’d do it, for Paz he’d do anything, but what about the children, would they be allowed to take them from the Covert and would Jied have to—

But he shouldn’t have worried.

Paz’s helm took the hit with a ringing  _ bong! _ that might have been comical except for how the sound seemed to shatter Din’s world—but he didn’t fall, merely staggered. And then, even as Cara wound up to try again Paz grabbed her arm, kicked out, and with an agility completely unexpected for someone his size flipped her bodily over his shoulder and across the ring.

She slammed into the ground with a pained “Oof!” and another thick cloud of dust. Gasps rolled through the crowd. Paz turned, dropping his arms low in preparation, and Cara grit her teeth and began to rise—

And the Armorer’s voice rang out: “Cease!”

Silence, broken only by the breaths of the fighters and the pounding of Din’s own heart as he stared at Cara, at how she blinked and looked down at the ground beneath her. The white, painted ground beneath her.

“Clan Djarin, out of bounds,” the Armorer announced, steady and even. “Victor: Clan Vizsla.”

And the crowd roared.

Din took deep breaths, uncaring of the hot prickle of tears beneath his helm as he watched Paz cross the ring to help Cara to her feet. He’d done it. For the second time in his life, Paz had fought and won the right to love another, and the person he’d chosen was Din. 

Now the only thing left was for Din to prove himself equally worthy.

Cara hissed as Paz grabbed her hand and hauled her up to standing. “Shit, that was a good throw.”

“My tooth’s loose, if that makes you feel any better,” Paz answered, and Cara just laughed and smacked his shoulder goodnaturedly. She turned then to look at Din, the soft smile curving her lip both acknowledgment and approval, and he nodded, feeling his heart swell in his chest. 

Cara turned and vanished back into the crowd. Paz, for his part, gave the spectators a quick wave before striding back across the ring, nodding briefly at Din before taking his place on the Armorer’s other side.

And then it was time.

Taking a deep breath, Din stepped forward across the white line. The crowd hushed, and their leader cleared her throat. “Issik has given his blessing, but a bond involves two parties, with strength demonstrated on both sides. Thus do we now seek the blessing of Lothir.” She nodded at him. “Din Djarin. Your opponent today, second of Clan Vizsla, the colossal earthquake: Jied Vizsla.”

Whispers through the crowd, not as urgent but no less impressed as Paz’s daughter patted Avi’s shoulder and stepped into the ring. She already had her weapon, a long, reinforced woodsteel staff, and as a ripple of anticipation went through the spectators Din reached up to unhook his own, taking comfort in its familiar weight. He’d been training with it the entire past month, after all, preparing for this moment. Preparing for his fight, his victory, his right to love Paz.

Now that Paz had cleared the path, it was time for Din to seal their promise.

The Armorer nodded, quieting the crowd with a raised hand. “Djarin fights for the right to accept Vizsla,” she said. “Rules are the same. Fight honorably, and fight well. Begin.”

A hush fell over the hangar. Din flexed his grip on his staff, relearning its contours and the little imperfections along its length that he’d memorized over the past month: the slight dip just below his left thumb, the thin ridge pressed against his palm. Across from him, Jied rotated her staff in a lazy arc, bringing it back behind her in perfect starting form. He hadn’t sparred with her—fighters in a wedding weren’t allowed—but she’d obviously been training just as hard as he had. And why not? Her job was to maintain Clan Vizsla’s honor by fighting him with all her strength and skill. Despite their conversation aboard the Crest a month ago and how much Jied had said she wanted them to be clan, that didn’t mean she would let him off easy.

And he certainly didn’t expect anything less.

“Kick her ass, Din’ _ baa! _ ”

The voice rang out across the hangar, high-pitched and furious. Din blinked and turned to see a horrified Avi with his hand clamped over Lyrr’s mouth. Paz made a strangled noise that sounded more laugh than scandal, while his five-year-old daughter just glared at her older sister with glittering eyes bright with determination, and as titters of amusement went through the crowd Din turned back to Jied and laughed, low. 

“Well, since she asked so nicely,” he said, and leaped forward.

He had to give Jied credit: she parried his first blow with surprising strength, striking sideways to knock him off-balance and bring her staff down toward his head. Quickly Din tumbled left, kicking out as he went but Jied just jammed her staff into the ground, vaulting into a half-flip to land gracefully a few feet away.

And that was just the beginning.

They fought from one end of the ring to the other, a series of sharp ringing cracks as their staves met again and again. Jied didn’t have the advantage of the Raven’s Shadow this time, not like when they’d fought outside the Razor Crest so long ago, but she was fast and she was deadly, exactly as Paz had brought her up to be. Jied Vizsla fought with the grace and skill of a true Mandalorian, the Creed and their culture evident in every precise strike, and under any other circumstances Din would’ve been bursting with pride. 

As it stood, he took a kick to the gut with a pained grunt, scrambling back and throwing his staff up just in time to block Jied’s downward blow. The force of it was enough to slam his knee into the ground, lightning shooting up his nerves on impact but Din grit his teeth and ignored it because Jied was already bringing her weapon around in an upward sweep and—

The weighted end of her staff slammed into his shoulder with the force of a solid punch. Pain exploded, no beskar to protect him and he couldn’t stop the sharp cry as he flew backwards and hit the ground, suddenly blinking up at bright blue sky. The spectators gasped, someone shouted, and he lifted his head just in time to see Jied running at him, staff raised, ready to deal the final blow—

But he knew something she didn’t.

Jied brought her weapon down with a sharp whistle of steel through air. Someone—might’ve been Lyrr—shrieked. Next to the Armorer, Paz lurched forward like he couldn’t help it, hand reaching.

And Din jerked himself sideways, a gunshot-loud  _ bang! _ sounding in his ear as the tip of Jied’s staff hit the ground mere inches from his head, and as she staggered with the momentum, off-balance for just a half-second he grabbed the weapon and kicked out with all his strength.

His boot slammed into her knee so hard he felt the splintering crack all the way up his leg. Jied crumpled, and as she fell Din rolled to the side, sweeping his staff out in a curving arc to knock her other foot out from beneath her.

She hit the dirt with a startled cry and a cloud of dust. Din quickly straightened back to standing, weapon at the ready, but he needn’t have bothered. Paz’s daughter jammed her staff into the ground, trying to pull herself up, but halfway there her knee buckled and she fell back with a pained hiss. And that was it.

“Cease,” the Armorer said, and though her voice remained steady, Din clearly heard the warm layer of pride underneath. “Clan Vizsla: incapacitated. Victor: Clan Djarin.”

And the crowd lost its fucking mind.

Lyrr screeched and turned to hug Avi, squishing Din’s child between them even as they giggled and squirmed. Cara whooped and slapped Sal’s shoulder hard enough to make her stagger. The rest of the Covert erupted into cheers and applause, sounds echoing off the walls of the hangar, of this place they called home.

And Paz. Paz just looked at Din, an intense, singular focus through the darkness of his visor that made something hot shiver down Din’s spine even as it felt as though his heart would burst right out of his chest. He’d done it. He’d asked the gods for permission to bond with the one he loved, had petitioned them the only way he knew how: through violence and a show of strength. And they had granted him their blessing.

Very slowly, Paz dipped his helm, and Din found himself smiling so wide it actually hurt his face.

It was done. They were going to marry.

A soft hiss from behind him, and he turned to see Jied prop herself up on one elbow even as the crowd continued cheering all around them. Her staff lay forgotten in the dirt and her knee was already starting to swell, dark blue cloth torn and darkening with blood. He frowned and hurried over, dropping down to inspect the wound. “You okay?”

She nodded, and though her next words were laced with pain there was was no anger or resentment there, only awe and gratitude. “That was fucking amazing.”

He laughed and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “I am so proud of you, daughter.”

Jied stared up at him, throat working as she swallowed. “Thank you,  _ Buirok, _ ” she answered, thick. And everything was right with the world.

Their medic stepped forward, clearing his throat, so Din straightened up and stepped toward the middle of the ring where Paz and the Armorer awaited him. A wave of warmth swept through him as he took his place next to his partner—his soon-to-be  _ husband _ , and Din looked around at the cheering, waving crowd and suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

After a lifetime of suffering and persecution, losing their families and friends and ancestral home...after a brawl in the darkness of the Nevarro sewers, a rescue full of blaster bolts and explosions, a harrowing search through an overgrown jungle and a burning house on Jagriin and fierce confessions in a tiny hangar and a terrible, soul-shattering grief in the clouds of Tal-Agu...they were finally here, together. He and Paz had lost everything in fire and darkness, but in that chaos they had found each other, had fought and bled and held on to each other through everything the universe had thrown at them.

The rest of the galaxy could look on their bond as something small and insignificant, just a tiny blip in the shifting chaos of blackness and deep space. But to Din, this was everything. Here, now, Paz and Jied and Avi and Lyrr and his wonderful, confusing, kindhearted child...this was his life. This was what he would fight, and bleed, and laugh, and cry, and ultimately die for.

This was clan.

From behind them the Armorer spoke, the echo of her voice enough to silence the crowd in an instant. “The ancient gods of Mandalore have given their blessing,” she said. “Din Djarin and Paz Vizsla have today demonstrated not only their strength and skill, but their love and connection through the unerring language of blood, pain, and sacrifice. They, and the bond they share, have earned our respect.”

“Hear.” As one, the rest of the Mandalorians knelt, overhead light glinting off a multitude of bowed helms. Din clamped down on the instinctive urge to join them, taking deep, even breaths instead. Little tingles of—of  _ something _ danced down his nerves as the Armorer approached Paz, bootsteps light yet distinct in the silence of the hangar. There was no going back after this, no changing his mind. And Paz wouldn’t, would he? He loved Din, had just got done showing the rest of the world just how much. If he...if he had any doubts about what they had agreed...

Warm fingers wrapped around his own—when had he started shaking?—and Din looked up to see Paz watching him. The dark blue helm was completely unreadable as usual, but the set of his broad shoulders was relaxed, the touch of his hand firm and assured.  _ Trust me,  _ Paz seemed to say with his entire being, and Din swallowed, realizing all of a sudden that he did.

From the first time he’d met Paz at fifteen, watching in awe as the older Mandalorian held back the Empire’s entire raging army in order to protect him, he’d trusted him. He’d trusted Paz to watch his back, to strategize smart, to give solid orders and to shoot where it counted. He’d trusted Paz as a leader and a comrade, and now, twenty years later, as so much more: the friend who made him laugh and held him when he cried, the father who raised their children in the shining path of the Way, the partner who would support and love him in all things. 

Din Djarin had no reason to be scared, not anymore. Not so long as Paz Vizsla walked by his side.

He squeezed Paz’s fingers and smiled when his partner brushed a thumb over his knuckles in response. Paz didn’t look away as the Armorer moved around him, never breaking eye contact even as she carefully removed his  _ aliik’gam _ and replaced it with a new one, snapping the gleaming beskar into place to display the signet of the mudhorn to the world at large.

She stepped back then, and Din thought he might just fly apart with joy and wonder and the all-encompassing feeling of  _ right  _ as their leader straightened up and announced, “Congratulations. You are now clan.”

And the room erupted.

The spectators leapt to their feet in yells and applause. Din huffed out a breathless laugh, felt Paz’s grip on his hand tighten enough to hurt but he didn’t even care, too lost in the realization that they’d done it. They were married. Paz was now Clan Djarin, Din’s  _ husband _ , the two of them belonging to each other body and soul. They were clan, and it was right.

A high-pitched cry sounded out as Jied launched out of the crowd, limping up on a fresh bacta cuff, and with one last squeeze of Din’s fingers Paz hurried forward to sweep her up in his arms, holding her close as she trembled. Avi and Lyrr rushed to Din and he accepted them easily, taking his child from Lyrr’s little arms and hugging them close as they cooed. Paz’s two—no,  _ their  _ two children burrowed into his other side, Lyrr crying outright while Avi tried and failed to hide his tears behind a grin, and Din smiled and squeezed them close, these wonderful, bright points of light he and Paz would raise together.

A firm hand came down on his shoulder, careful to avoid the injury from before, and he looked up to see Cara grinning down at him, a smudge of dirt still streaked across her cheek. “Not bad for a bounty hunter I beat up in a swamp,” she said, and Din just shook his head, laughed, and wondered at how he’d managed to get so lucky.

“No,” he answered, as he held his clan close. “Not bad at all.”

#

They stayed for another hour, laughing and conversing and soaking up congratulations. It was the Covert’s first wedding since being established on Thalkikk, so Din was sure the others would take full advantage of the occasion; Sal had already cracked open a fresh supply of ale, and the scent of heavily-spiced food in the air was enough to make Din’s mouth water. But he couldn’t eat, not yet. Not until he and Paz finished the ceremony on their own terms.

The sounds of celebration faded away as they headed back to the living unit. Din glanced sideways at his husband—and gods, to be able to call Paz that, he didn’t think he’d ever get over it, the little shiver of pleasure that sent down his spine—and smiled. “That  _ was _ a good throw, by the way.”

Paz huffed a laugh, scratchy through his modulator. “Like trying to toss a jerba,” he said. “I’m lucky I didn’t throw my back out.”

Din snorted. “You went easy on her and you know it.”

“No.” Paz stopped to look at him. “I didn’t.”

Din swallowed and reached up, tracing the fresh new mudhorn signet on Paz’s  _ aliik’gam _ . “I know. I didn’t either, with Jied.”

His husband nodded, one hand coming up to brush Din’s left shoulder. It made him hiss, and he could almost see Paz frown. “You need Doc?”

“No.” The truth was he probably did, Jied had pulled no punches and his shoulder joint should not be feeling loose in that way, but his entire arm could be falling off and Din would still have refused. “Not right now. Maybe later, but...not now.”

Paz seemed to understand because the hand at his shoulder slid to the back of his neck, cupping gently for a brief moment before the older man stepped back. “Okay.”

They entered the unit a moment later. As Paz shut the door behind them and locked it, Din took a moment to look around the room: the table, the kitchenette, the alcove on the side that led to the sleeping quarters. It was as if he was seeing it all for the first time, and in a way, he realized, he was. He’d left this place this morning as one half of a clan of two, and now he’d returned as someone married, with a clan more than doubled in size and a life partner who wore his signet. It was a lot.

Strong arms encircled his waist and Din gasped and turned, settling into Paz with ease. Without the armor in the way he could feel every inch of his husband’s body, the way his muscles bunched and shifted beneath the thin cloth of the tunic as Paz held him close and sighed. “Wow. I can’t believe we’re actually here.”

Din just nodded, not trusting himself to speak around the sudden lump in his throat. Paz held him for a moment longer, warm fingers stroking gently up and down his spine, until finally the question came rumbling up between them, just a bit shy, a bit hesitant. “You ready?”

Din took a deep breath and shifted back. Paz obediently dropped his arms, and for an instant he missed their contact so intensely it was a little scary, wanting nothing more than to hurry back forward into the safety of his husband’s embrace. But Din clamped down on the urge, instead laying a hand in the middle of Paz’s broad chest, feeling that strong heart thump against his palm as he said, a little shaky, “As my husband and my clan, you are granted the right to see me. In this, as in all things, I am yours.”

Paz nodded. Slowly his hand moved up, brushing Din’s arm before gripping the bottom of his helm. Din closed his eyes and breathed out as the protective metal was lifted.

The light came through first, a warm brightening beyond his eyelids as he felt his hair fall back against his forehead. Beneath his hand Paz’s chest lifted on a breath, followed by the gentle touch of bare fingers to his cheek. 

Din kept his eyes closed and focused on breathing as Paz learned him, the dry pads of his fingers caressing over his nose and mouth and the edges of his hair. Only when he felt his husband’s touch slide down his face to lift his chin did he look up to see that dark blue helm tilted in his direction, and he didn’t have to see Paz’s face to hear the teasing grin as his husband remarked, “You’re scruffier than I imagined.”

Din snorted and smacked his chest, then grabbed his hand to press a kiss to a warm palm. Paz sighed and leaned into it. “Thank you,” he said, soft and serious, before indicating his own helm. “As my husband and my clan, you are granted the right to see me. In this, as in all things, I am yours.”

Din looked up at him and nodded. It was time.

He stepped forward. Paz accepted him, easy as always, looping an arm around his waist to draw him close as Din took a deep breath and set his hands on either side of Paz’s helm. It was...strange. He’d expected to feel nervous, or at least a bit uncertain about what he’d see under the metal, the face of this man he had fallen in love with so deeply. But instead, it only felt  _ right. _ Whatever Paz looked like, whatever scars he carried and whatever darkness lived behind his eyes, he was still the other half of Din’s soul. Nothing, not even the grindings of a vast, uncaring universe, could change that.

“Don’t mind the tear tracks,” Paz said then, a little rough, and Din just laughed.

“I’ll never mind anything, when it comes to you,” he answered, and as Paz’s arm tightened around his waist, acceptance and gratitude and love all in one, Din took a deep breath, peered into his husband’s eyes through the dark, T-shaped visor, and lifted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personal headcanon: Paz is black with long, graying dreadlocks that are meticulously braided and tied back in order to fit inside his helm. Jied inherited his hair but prefers to keep hers shorn short for convenience. Nevertheless, whenever they're together she usually takes a few hours to wash, condition, and redo his hair, a process that's relaxing and enjoyable for both of them. Paz's late husband used to do his hair for him too, and Din eventually learns.
> 
> tl;dr Paz is basically Mike Colter/Luke Cage with dreads, I don't make the rules.
> 
> I also have a few other short headcanons for this series that will likely never get written. They deal mostly with future stuff, wrapping up character arcs and the like. BAMF!Lyrr is featured. Would any of you be interested in reading them? If so, I can insert an extra chapter. Just let me know.
> 
>  **Permissions:** All my works, including this one, can be translated and podficced without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything else, please ask first. Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few folks expressed interest in some additional _Ballads_ headcanons, so here they are. 
> 
> **Be advised:** The last one has major character death. Skip it if you prefer.

Din bursts into ugly crying the instant he has to hand the child over to the group of green-skinned, long-eared adults on the swampy little planet. Their leader, a wrinkled female, peers up at this proud Mandalorian now reduced to full-body, snot-filled sobs and promptly huffs. "Not far we are from you. Visit you can," she drawls, like it's so fucking obvious, and Paz, after making sure his husband actually is okay, laughs the entire way back to the ship.

#

Avi doesn't have the stomach for fighting and violence, so he leaves the Way when he comes of age. This surprises no one. Din and Paz gift him the Razor Crest, and he eventually establishes a quiet life for himself with a nice young man on a forgettable New Republic planet. Lyrr, on the other hand, swears the Creed the instant she's old enough. Jied insists on standing for the entire three-hour ceremony (despite being eight months pregnant), and Paz absolutely does _not_ cry, shut _up,_ Din.

#

Paz is terrified of spiders, to the point where he immediately leaves the room if he sees one and blatantly refuses to return until Din or someone else kills it. The one time Din got fed up and refused to help ("You're fucking heavy infantry, Paz, you can handle a tiny invertebrate!"), Paz decided the best way to deal with the spider was to use his flamethrower. 

Din kicked him off their (still-smoldering) bed for a week.

#

Through tactics, diplomacy, and a healthy dose of violence, Lyrr Vizsla eventually reunites the Mandalorian people and establishes for them a new homeworld, taking on the title of Mand'alor. Jied becomes her most trusted advisor. Paz and Din, now too old to deploy, decide at last to retire. Din spends his days teaching tactics and literature to young trainees, while Paz grows a truly impressive edible garden that is the envy of all their neighbors. 

Just a few years later, though, Paz is killed defending Lyrr during an assassination attempt. Din gets through the mourning period, but even though he continues playing with his grandkids and working with his students, the light never returns to his eyes. Six months later, he develops an illness that somehow refuses to get better despite all the latest medical advancements. In desperation Lyrr reaches out to the child, now a gifted Jedi-in-training, who immediately races to New Mandalore to help their adoptive father. After a long, quiet conversation behind closed doors, however, the child merely holds Din's hand and allows him to pass peacefully in the night.

In the months following, Lyrr has a small altar built on New Mandalore's highest mountain, in a spot with a clear view of each morning's sunrise. It doesn't contain much; just a small meditation space, two eternal flames burning next to each other, and a beskar plaque with a poem:

_The mudhorn dreamt of flying_  
_so the shriekhawk took him_  
_into his heart, and they were_  
_a clan of two._

She never officially gives it a name, but as the years pass the people who journey to the altar to pray and meditate eventually begin to call it The Temple of Two Lovers.


End file.
